


Down With the Sickness

by Gala_and_Elle, theletterelle



Series: Slantverse [40]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:25:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gala_and_Elle/pseuds/Gala_and_Elle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Matt not know that Frank is always sick?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down With the Sickness

The first clue that something is wrong is when Frank doesn’t show up for school three days in a row. One day, Matt could see. Two, maybe. But it’s been three, and not only is Frank still not here, he hasn’t called or texted Matt to let him know what’s going on.

Matt doesn’t demand it, of course. Their relationship isn’t like that; Matt doesn’t tell Frank what to do outside of narrow circumstances, and he certainly doesn’t demand that Frank check in with him every minute of every day. Hell, Frank would never stand for that. Still. Matt’s worried.

He catches Mikey on his way to World Lit. “Hey, do you know what’s up with Frank?”

Mikey frowns a little. “He didn’t tell you? He’s sick.”

“Of course he didn’t tell me.” Matt grimaces. “He’s Frank. Is he okay? What does he have?”

“I dunno. Probably bronchitis,” says Mikey. “He usually gets that in the fall.”

“Wait, what? Bronchitis is serious shit, man. What do you mean he ‘usually’ gets that?”

Mikey’s mouth quirks. “Frank’s a tough bastard. He has to be, because he gets sick like all the time. He’s got Epstein-Barr, and it makes him catch every little thing that comes along. He was on oxygen first semester of freshman year. He hated that.”

“Yeah, he would.” Jesus. Matt feels bad for all the times he punched Frank in the gut or nailed him in the balls. He had no idea. “Is he in the hospital? Fuck.”

“No, no, it’s not that bad.” The bell rings and Mikey turns to go. Matt grabs his shoulder. “Wait, hang on. You think I can go see him? I, fuck, I don’t know where he lives.” How does he not know basic facts about his sub? Jesus, he’s a shitty dom.

“Oh yeah, totally.” Mikey tears a piece of paper from his notebook and scrawls out an address. “I gotta go, dude. I don’t want detention.” Matt nods absently. Mikey lopes off down the hall.

The late bell rings. Oh well. Matt can afford to skip a class. Hell, he might as well ditch the rest of the day. His sub is sick; it’s the perfect excuse if he’s caught.

-o-

Matt knocks again. And again. “I know you’re here, Frank,” he mutters, and knocks one more time.

“Coming, hold your shit,” he hears. The voice has to be Frank’s, but it’s about an octave lower than it should be. The door unlocks, and Frank squints against the gray light of day. He’s in two hoodies, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looks exhausted. “What are you doing here?” It ends in a cough, which ends in Frank hawking up and spitting into the bushes beside the front porch.

“Heard you were sick. You gonna let me in?” Matt leans in, one hand on the door.

Frank shakes his head. “Go away.”

“Frank, let me the fuck in.”

“No. You’ll catch it.”

“I will not. I haven’t been sick since I got the flu last year.” Matt pushes past Frank who gives way grudgingly.

“Fucker.” Frank blows his nose in the crumpled tissue he has in his hand. “You suck.” He closes the door and follows Matt into the living room. It’s obvious Frank’s been hanging in here; there’s a wastebasket with wads of tissue around it, a video game on pause, a nest of blankets on the couch. Frank shuffles back to it and drops down. He looks worn-out just from that.

Matt sits in a chair beside the couch and frowns at Frank. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“Not your business.” Frank coughs again. “It’s not a thing. I’ll be fine in a couple days, and I’ll catch up on homework over the weekend. Oh yeah, so I won’t be at the party Saturday night. Forgot to tell you that.”

Matt waves that off. “You don’t think I might want to know if my sub is dying of the plague?”

Frank scowls. “Fuck off. I’m not dying.”

“You sound like it.” Matt’s not sure how to bring this up without sounding like a controlling prick, but he dives in anyway. “Mikey said you get sick a lot. You ever thought that might be a good thing for me to know before I knock your dick in the dirt on a regular basis?”

“Mikey can go to hell.” Frank hacks up what sounds like half his lung. “So can you. I’m not made of glass. I can take whatever you have the balls to hand out.” He starts to get up. “You wanna go?”

“Sit the fuck down before I throw you down,” snaps Matt. Frank glares mutinously, and for a second looks like he’ll launch himself at Matt, but he sneezes and blows his nose again, and by the time he’s finished mopping up the moment has passed. He sits, and Matt waits for him while he rearranges the blankets around himself.

“I didn’t want it to be a thing,” Frank says finally. “I’m not weak.”

“I never thought you were,” says Matt. “I don’t think you are now.”

“Yeah, well.” Frank stares at the TV screen in gloom. “I’ll get better. I always do.”

Matt has no idea what to say to that. He stands, and Frank sits up. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna fix you a drink.”

“I don’t need a drink,” says Frank, but he says it to Matt’s back, because Matt’s already in the kitchen. “Fuck off, I don’t need--” Frank doesn’t finish, because he goes into a coughing fit.

“The hell you don’t,” Matt calls back. “You’ll like it, trust me.” He opens cabinets at random, looking for the ingredients. Cider vinegar, honey, salt, yeah, they’ve got everything he needs. He finds a mug, fills it at the tap, and adds the vinegar and honey, then sticks it in the microwave. When it dings, he brings Frank the mug. Frank glares.

“I’m the dom,” Matt says, forestalling the fight. “Don’t even start with me. Drink it.”

It’s not the most articulate argument, but it gets Frank to gulp it down. When he’s finished, he sticks the mug back out to Matt. “Okay. You can make me another one.”

“Oh, _may_ I,” says Matt dryly, but he gets up and goes back into the kitchen. When he comes back, Frank reaches out for it and sips at it.

“It’ll clear up your throat,” says Matt. “My mom always makes it when I’m sick.”

“I thought you don’t get sick,” Frank rasps.

“Not usually,” Matt says. “But not never.”

“Huh.” Frank watches the unmoving screen for a couple minutes, then picks up the remote and changes over to TV. Two doms are fighting over a kneeling sub, who’s watching with anticipation, while the studio audience chants “Jer-ry! Jer-ry!” Frank snuggles down to watch.

Matt snorts. “This is crap.”

“Yeah,” agrees Frank, and takes another drink.


End file.
